


Something Worth Celebrating

by Semperlitluv



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: All The Tropes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Second Chances, accidental roommate acquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28971348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semperlitluv/pseuds/Semperlitluv
Summary: Sansa Stark does NOT have any feelings for Theon Greyjoy, even if a series of holiday meetings, mishaps and misunderstandings seem hell-bent on convincing her otherwise.
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Comments: 30
Kudos: 36





	1. Three Days Before Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dresupi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon spends Christmas with the Starks.

“That should go a little to the left, love.”

Sansa only just manages to regain her balance, narrowly avoiding a tumble off the kitchen chair she’s using as a step stool into the Christmas tree full of Catelyn Stark’s heirloom mercury glass ornaments. 

Steady again, she takes a deep breath and makes a restorative eye roll. 

“Thanks, and hello to you too, Theon,” she says wryly without turning around. A careful pinch of the wire ornament hook later, Sansa is the picture of nonchalance as she hops off the chair, walks backward several paces, does a little spin, and regards the Christmas tree with a keen, fresh eye. 

Theon is a leonine drape against the fireplace mantle in the corner of her eye. He’s watching her. Again. Watching her with that damn smirk, those lips that feel like --

“THEON!” 

Her brother is bellowing from the bottom of the stairs like he’s separated from the living room by an ocean, giving a friendly yell that puts a hard stop to Sansa’s derailing train of thought. Robb hops over the back of the sectional like he’s a teenager again to reach Theon and the fireplace.

Sansa fusses with packing up the unused ornaments, ribbon, and hooks. She doesn’t eye the forearm stretch of rolled-up cuffs of Theon’s flannel shirt as he and Robb exchange that masculine half hug-back slap-handshake maneuver. She doesn’t examine Theon’s expression as Robb confirms that Theon, along with Sansa, is exiled to Winterfell’s pool house as the rest of the Stark siblings, spouses and guests have filled the main house. There’s no reason that a little glow of warmth would bubble in her chest when Theon’s response to offering her ground floor childhood room to their elderly neighbor Nan -- staying with the Starks because her son is overseas and can’t visit for the holiday -- is a sincere (dare she say, fond?), “now that’s our sweet Sansa, isn’t it?” 

That little bubble doesn’t bounce gleefully when Theon is the first to reach over and take an empty storage tub from Sansa’s arms to return to the basement. She hardly notices when Robb doesn’t return to the living room with Theon once everything is put away. She’s completely focused on straightening the garlands around the room and therefore can’t be distracted by his damned smirk from the other side of the room.

“It looks nice in here, Sansa,” Theon says, “Did you decorate the pool house, too?”

“A little, yeah.” 

“And it’s just you and me out there?”

Something about the little hum in his response puts Sansa on edge. “Yes... why do you ask?”

“Oh, it’s no big deal,” Theon shrugs. “Robb said he might end up out there with us since Jeyne’s at the ‘furnace’ stage of pregnancy.” Sansa feels a wave of disappointment with that reply but she will not -- cannot -- examine why. With a slightly brighter tone, he continues, “Hey, I need to mentally map the best spots to catch someone hot under the mistletoe. Say, your Aunt Lyanna isn’t coming this year, is she? She’s a total fox.” 

“Ugh. Stop being gross, Theon.” Sansa reaches to sound annoyed. It’s easier to be annoyed than to have any other feelings. Not that Theon has inspired any other feelings for Sansa in years, of course. And that wasn’t even a thing. Not even close.

“Eh, you love it anyway, Stark. I’m gonna see if your mom left the Christmas dinner seating chart somewhere so I can make… suggestions.” Theon slips down the hallway without waiting for a reply. Not that she really had anything else to say. Maybe Theon will make sure she doesn’t have to sit near her Aunt Lysa while he’s finding someone he wants to hit on. And kiss under the mistletoe. And never see again after the holidays, because Theon’s never been interested in a happily ever after. 

The glowing, warm bubble bursts. 

She turns back to stare at the Christmas tree for a moment before giving a sigh and a muttered, “damn it.” Sansa stalks back to the chair and heaves herself up again. That ornament does need to go over a little further to the left. 

The rest of the evening is a whirlwind. Her dinner is eaten in drive-by bites between trips around the house to ferry guests to their rooms and get them settled. It’s not until Sansa finds herself standing outside the door that she remembers that she’s not the only person sleeping in the pool house. 

Luckily, Sansa is adept at self pep-talks and after an evening spent finding phone chargers and towels for her taxing relatives, she’s got just enough frustrated energy built up to make her bold. She doesn’t care what Theon does. It doesn’t matter which of the two bedrooms Theon has claimed. It doesn’t matter that there are no ensuites and they’ll have to share a bathroom. It doesn’t matter that she knows he sleeps nak--

“Waiting for an invitation?” 

Sansa jumps as Theon throws open the door. She busies herself picking up the bag she’s dropped at his feet and shoulders inside.

“I brought some food from the house since no one saw you come up for dinner.” 

Theon’s already got a container open and half a roll in his mouth. “Thanks, yeah, I had a video chat with Asha. She’s introducing her girlfriend to our mom this weekend.”

“Oh, that’s a milestone!”

Food stored in the pool house kitchenette, Theon leans against the counter and folds the reusable grocery tote. “It is. She’d never say, but Asha’s nervous. I kinda hate that I couldn’t get out to Pyke.” 

Sansa raises her hand but something stops her from touching Theon’s crossed forearms and she grabs the folded grocery tote from him instead. “It’s not your fault that they closed the ferries due to the weather and Asha knows that, Theon. I know how it sucks to spend a holiday apart from your family, but there’s enough chaos around to keep you distracted. And you can always come out here to video chat when you want.” 

“Yeah, you’re right, Stark” his eyes gleam mischievously when he meets her gaze, “and your mom hasn’t noticed my edits to the seating chart so I think I can definitely work my way into snogging your Aunt Lyanna this year.” 

Sansa smacks his chest with the bag on her way out of the kitchen. 

“Ugh, stop being gross, Theon. It’s Christmas.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: New Year's Eve on 1/31. I can't promise this will always be so tidy, but I should be able to post weekly on Sundays through Valentine's Day to catch up to real-time holidays. 
> 
> I always want to know these things, so I charted ages according to the birth span in the ASoIaF wiki: 
> 
> Rickon - 20  
> Bran - 24  
> Arya - 26  
> Sansa - 29  
> Robb - 33
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. New Year's Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't wait until tomorrow to post this. :) 
> 
> A line in this chapter actually inspired the entire work (guess which one!) and I think I'll only be able to wrap up the next chapter -- where we catch up to upcoming holidays with Valentine's Day -- if I get this one out in the world. Enjoy!

New Year’s Eve at Sansa’s family home is miles away from a typical New Year’s Eve with her friends. Physically, Winterfell sits outside of downtown Wintertown by a 20-minute drive. Activity-wise, Sansa imagines this night will include far less wrangling of drunken friends and fending off unwanted kisses at midnight. But as plan after plan falls through until the only open invitation remaining is from Aunt Lysa and her creepy husband, Sansa decides to give up the ghost. 

“Yes, Dad, I promise. Seriously. Yes. We don’t have any fireworks.” Sansa switches her cellphone to her other hand to ruffle her littlest brother’s hair as she passes by his kitchen island perch. “Rickon has been threatened by everyone and he’s also just as responsible as Robb was at twenty, and you let Robb drive the boat at the lake house at this age.” Rickon puts up a fist for Sansa to bump. She winks as she finally convinces her father that his two homebound children are very much adults and capable of enjoying themselves without any mischief. Well, mischief without legal repercussions, at least. 

“Gods,” she slumps onto her own barstool, “You’d think we were six and thirteen again, home alone for the first time.” 

Rickon is halfway through his first of three allotted underage drinks of the evening. He’d spent an inordinate amount of time determining exactly which beverages he would drink and in exactly what order (all beer, but moving from light to dark as recommended on YouTube.) Sansa couldn’t bring herself to make fun in the standard sibling way, though. She’d never shaken her propensity to plan everything down to the most minute detail and Rickon was often a victim of circumstances as the youngest child in a family with a thirteen-year birth span. He could have this one. 

“Dad’s probably more worried about you than me, Sans.” 

She sits up straight, a little shocked and a lot perturbed. “What’s that supposed to mean?!” 

“It means that since you ended things with that fuckwit and decided to permanently cosplay as a nun, Mom and Dad have totally been wringing their hands over only having Robb’s imminent spawn as grandchildren.” 

“That is… rude. It’s also Jeyne’s child.” 

“And thank fuck for that,” Rickon clinks his bottle against Sansa’s abandoned lowball of gin and tonic on the island counter. As Sansa drops her head onto her arms with a sigh, she can feel the glass’ condensation puddle dampening her sleeves. Rickon continues, “Don’t sweat it. Once Jeyne pops out the little grumpkin, Mom will be too busy fawning over them to bother the rest of us for at least eighteen months.” 

Sansa can’t fault his logic. They continue to talk - Rickon has a crush on a classmate, which gives Sansa a lot of material - and Sansa makes dinner. Rickon has just put away the final dish and is pulling a second beer out of the fridge when the mudroom door swings open into the wall with a hearty THWACK.

“Hey, do Mom and Dad have any of the….” Robb is hip-checking Rickon out of the way of the refrigerator before Sansa can register what’s going on. “AHA!” He pulls a container of hummus out and brandishes it towards his wife like a weapon, “I knew they would have this stuff. I’ll make you a plate.” Jeyne is walking (waddling) towards the row of barstools, shaking her head. She’s only facing Sansa when she rolls her eyes yet says in a sweet voice, “That’s wonderful, babe,” back to Robb. 

“Is he still claiming you have cravings to justify his strange eating habits?” Sansa asks in an undertone, although with Robb’s enthusiastic rifling through the kitchen cupboards and drawers, there’s enough noise to cover her sidebar with Jeyne. She likes her brother’s wife. 

“Yes,” Jeyne’s rolling her eyes again with a fond smile, “The only craving I’ve had since the middle of my second trimester is for sex though, and Robb is afraid he’ll accidentally tell someone that if they ask.” 

Rickon is retaliating for Robb’s hip-check maneuver by plucking the plastic serving spoon from his hands and smacking him with it tauntingly. Robb might have thirteen years on Rickon, but the youngest Stark sibling has a solid two inches on him that provide a tactical advantage in their rough-housing. 

“He did almost blurt it out in the middle of a meeting last week.” 

The voice comes from over Sansa’s left shoulder and she shouldn’t be surprised that, once again, Theon Greyjoy has suddenly appeared. She does nearly fall off her barstool. Theon reaches out and stabilizes her with a hand to her upper back. 

“Gods, Theon. Why do you always sneak up on me?” she snarks, trying to recalibrate herself. 

He doesn’t reply right away, slipping around Robb and wrestling the spoon from Rickon. As he passes behind Sansa to bring Jeyne the plate and utensil, Theon murmurs, “I like to see a pretty girl fall for me.” 

She represses the urge to shudder at the feel of his breath on her ear. She’ll revisit that feeling - and what the heck he means by that comment - when she’s alone. Luckily, Robb and Rickon’s roughhousing has devolved into a conversation about Rickon’s drinking plan and that draws enough attention for Sansa to busy herself with putting away the remainder of the clean dishes. Sansa can still feel the heat from Theon’s palm between her shoulder blades. 

Peace is reached and everyone is draped around the kitchen, conversations overlapping, separating and coming back together in the way that a familiar group often does. Sansa and Jeyne are talking about how Catelyn is already planning a June party to celebrate two family anniversaries: Robb and Jeyne’s fifth and her and Ned’s own thirty-fifth. 

“Kinda weird to think that you could be celebrating your fifth wedding anniversary tonight, too, isn’t it, Sansa?” 

Jeyne’s gasp and “Shut up, Robb!” is drowned out by the smack of Rickon’s hand against the back of Robb’s head. “Shit, man - stop it! I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, Sansa,” Robb cries, ducking against his wife’s side for cover, “It's just that, you know, New Year's Eve would be your anniversary if you had married that douche wagon, and I remembered that earlier." 

She can only give her earnest older brother the best smile available to her at the moment.

“I know, Robb. It’s okay. It is weird.” 

Sansa redirects the conversation back to Jeyne’s cravings (or lack thereof). But as soon as Robb and Rickon wander off to turn on the New Year’s Eve ball drop on the living room TV, Sansa jumps up to let Shaggy outside. Rickon’s dog is the last to live at their parents’ home. They’ve promised to help Rickon with the pet deposit required at his off-campus apartment next year if his grades stay up. 

As she watches Shaggy try to jump and chomp at the icicles hanging from the garage eaves, the door slides open to her left. 

“Don’t beat yourself up over what Robb said in there, Stark.” 

If asked, Sansa would have said that Jeyne would be the likely one to come check on her. But Jeyne is 7 months pregnant and Sansa _is_ standing in about 15 inches of snow on the deck in the complete dark. 

The porchlight is flickering when Theon turns it on. She’s already on edge, and even without Robb bringing it up, she had been consciously pushing down how different her life would be if she had been saying, "I do," instead of finding her fiance with another woman as the clock chimed 12:01 AM five years ago. 

“Sansa.” His fingers are a gentle brush across her clenched knuckles. He can probably feel how tense she is through her the fabric of her thickest winter gloves. 

“Yeah?” 

Sansa wants to release the deck rail from her grip. She wants to run away. She wants to touch his bare hands and feel the callouses that come from honest, hard work. She _wants_. 

“I just... don’t let your dumb brother ruin your night.” His voice holds a level of sincerity that she can’t quite navigate right now. 

“Hey, he’s my dumb brother but he’s your friend. I had no choice in the matter,” she’s aiming for levity, with a breathy laugh, but gods - her voice sounds ridiculous around the lump in her throat.

There’s a moment where she thinks Theon might not take her cue. His gaze is hitting the side of her face like wildfire. She’s tense, waiting, but she can’t look.

“Yeah. He’s my friend.” She can hear Robb and Rickon shouting down the final moments of the year.

_Five, four, three, two -_

With a gentle squeeze of fingers around her bare wrist, Theon simply adds, “Happy New Year,” and goes back inside.

He leaves the porch light on. Sansa can see her breath in the freezing air as she exhales, to no one at all, “Happy New Year.” 


	3. Valentine's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentine's Day, part one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is shorter than I originally intended but I wanted to post something today, so here's the first part of Valentine's Day! This hasn't been beta'd or read through by anyone other than my tired self, so apologies for any glaring typos. Thanks for reading. xoxo

Like so many other aspects of her life, Sansa’s job isn’t what she anticipated she’d be doing at twenty-nine.

The dreams of her decade-younger self aside, Sansa is proud of turning her measly savings (and a bank loan) into a real, profitable business. But owning a craft supply and gift store means that there is no escape from any holiday that could warrant a purchase of any sort. So, Sansa finds herself spending the Friday preceding Valentine’s Day as maestro for a series of store events: calligraphy lessons from local artist Missandei, a craft cocktail demonstration from Theon’s sister Asha (who cleverly brings mixers, liquor and garnishes for takeaway in Kraken’s signature recycled glass bottles), and an ongoing table for adults and kids to make their own Valentine’s cards.

Sansa has never been so excited for the fifteenth of February.

She loves her store, and she can lose herself in the joyful chaos of her customers, even if listening to hundreds of love stories will make her feel heartsore after closing. As Asha packs up her materials and the last customers are paying, Sansa flits up to the register, where Rickon is earning some extra cash for whatever he does with his spare time. The bell above the door rings, but Sansa doesn’t look up from answering a customer question on her last Instagram post until she hears Rickon’s greeting: “Hey, Theon! What’s up, man?” 

“I needed a break from watching your brother worry about being a terrible father instead of doing his job, so I volunteered to pick up the cards he ordered.” 

“He’s really going off the deep end,” Rickon nods knowingly, “He actually texted me at, like, 3 a.m. to ask if I could make a list of things that were traumatic to me as a baby. Like I remember what the fuck happened when I was a baby.” 

Sansa hisses, “Language, Rickon!” 

“Yeah, sorry -- anyway, he told me it was because I was the youngest person he knows, and I must think about this to prevent a lifetime of therapy for my nephew or whatever.” 

“And that’s  _ exactly  _ why I decided to leave early and run this errand.” 

“Good choice,” Rickon confirms. “Hey, Sansa? If you’re cool up here, I’ll go grab that order from the back room.” 

Sansa’s got her back to the register now, shuffling a stack of paper. She frowns at herself, realizing that she’s un-alphabetized a list of online orders scheduled for in-store pickup tomorrow.  _ Ugh _ . “Sure, Rick.” 

“What’d those papers ever do to you, eh, Sans?” 

Sansa is slow to turn around. Theon is in his signature slump against the counter, and she’s a little irritated to see that the damp February weather has his sandy waves curling against his forehead. It reminds her of a Marillion music video she used to watch obsessively. 

She’s saved from trying to come up with a witty or cutting retort by Asha dropping a drink kit on the counter. “For your hot date, Sansa.” 

Theon stands up straight at lightning speed, but Sansa’s pretty sure that’s only so that Asha can’t reach up to ruffle Theon’s hair.

“You’ve got a Valentine’s date?” 

“Ouch, Theon. No need to sound so surprised,” Sansa deflects, half-heartedly glaring at Asha sidling out of the shop with a wave and a shout of thanks.

“Wait. Wait. Who is it with? Robb’s gonna die if I get the scoop first on this.”

“There’s no scoop, Theon,” Sansa ducks below the counter to put the drink kit next to her purse, with a deep breath and a hope that her cheeks aren’t as flushed as they feel, “Asha’s joking. Didn’t you hear what Rickon said at New Year’s? I’m a nun. No dates. In fact, I’m the only Stark rolling up to Sunday night dinner solo nowadays.” 

Something about the look in Theon’s eyes makes Sansa think that her tone wasn’t as light-hearted as she was aiming for, but now that the store is empty and she’s started talking, she can’t seem to stop. 

“It’s okay, though. Everyone is grumpy about spending their holiday at family dinner, but I’ll be the only one at the table without a significant other -- and some people swear by larger groups, but it’s somehow  _ more _ obvious when you’re the eleventh wheel than if you’re the fifth or third because everyone goes out of their way to include you in non-couple conversation without mentioning the fact that you’re well on your way to becoming the spinster sister and never going to have someone to bring to holidays or family dinners, so they can just start putting me at the kids’ table once the rest of them start popping out babies -- oh gods, I’m officially pathetic, aren’t I?” Sansa doesn’t realize that her hands have flown up to cover her face until Theon has plied her fingers off her forehead.

“Ok, you just need to breathe a second there, Sansa,” Theon holds her hands to his chest, and Sansa almost can’t breathe for another, more pectoral-related reason.  _ Get your shit together, Stark. Don’t be such a ninny.  _ Sansa can’t pull her hands away fast enough when Rickon pops up behind Theon.

“Nevermind, Theon. It’s been a long day; I’m tired. Here’s Rickon with Robb’s order -- need anything else?” 

“Uhh, hey, guys?” She notices now that she’s staring over Theon’s shoulder instead of looking at his face that Rickon is holding his phone up to his ear and isn’t holding any packages, “Jeyne’s in labor.” 


	4. President's Day

Sansa’s pulled from sleep by a hushed pair of voices. Eyes closed and a little disoriented — _was she dreaming of the beach?_ — she realizes that her head is resting on Theon Greyjoy’s leg, and his hand is on her shoulder. Worst of all, he’s talking to her father. 

“How’s Jeyne doing?” 

“She’s doing okay. She’s talking to her parents. They’re on the way into town.” 

“I’d ask how Robb is doing, but I’d wager that I know the answer to that question.” Sansa feels something in her belly clench at the chuckle in Theon’s sleep-rough voice and decides to blame that ache on her meager vending machine dinner. She’s just hungry. For food. Hungry for food. 

Her father agrees. “I’m going to take Cat back to the house for a few hours. Robb asked if the two of you would come back to the room before they stop allowing visitors.”

“Okay,” she can hear the yawn in Theon’s reply, and she tries not to tense her face as she feels his hand smooth over her hair, “I’ll wake up this one. What room?” 

“I’m awake,” Sansa blinks against the sting of the fluorescent lights to see her father sitting across the row of waiting room chairs. His eyes are tired and a little bloodshot, but she can tell even from her sideways view that he’s smiling a little bit, too.

“Have a nice nap, honey?” Sansa ignores the teasing tone in her father’s voice in favor of moving her head away from Theon’s lap as quickly as humanly possible. Falling asleep was inevitable — the clock above her father’s head shows the time as 3:30 AM and she was up at six the previous morning to receive a delivery at the store — but she’s a little upset at herself for not deciding to stretch out on the empty benches when the only other family in the delivery ward left the waiting room around midnight. 

Sansa moves a bit on autopilot after her mom comes into the waiting room, bidding her parents goodnight and following Theon down the hospital hallway maze. It isn’t until she sees Robb sitting on the edge of Jeyne’s bed holding the tiniest bundle of blankets that the last vestiges of sleep fall away. She elbows past Theon to wash her hands in the room’s corner sink.

“Gimme my nephew,” she makes grabbing hands at a beaming Robb, who relinquishes his son into her arms. The baby’s eyes blink open, but he settles back to sleep as she sits in the chair next to the bed. 

“I don’t remember Rickon or Bran being that small,” Theon says.

“He didn’t feel very small,” Jeyne sighs, and Sansa’s not sure if her heart can melt any further at the look that her brother shares with his wife as he reaches out to hold and kiss Jeyne’s hand. 

“I’m going to kick you two out in the minute so my wife can get her well-deserved rest,” Robb is saying as Theon reaches over with a finger and gently strokes the baby’s pink cheek. Sansa almost misses her brother’s next words, “but before we finish the paperwork, we want to ask you both to be his godparents.” 

Sansa can see Theon’s head jerk up from the corner of her eye. She and Jeyne had spoken about this weeks ago, but Theon looks shocked. 

“A godparent? Me?” The disbelief in his voice makes her stomach clench in a different way than before.

“Of course, you, Theon,” Sansa is a little surprised that Jeyne speaks up before Robb, “I’m not sure Robb would have survived my pregnancy without you.” 

“I want to argue, but she’s right, man. I can’t think of two people I’d trust with my son more than the two of you.” 

Theon’s hitch of breath is the only sound in the room for a beat. “Of course we’ll be his godparents,” Sansa looks up at Theon and catches his eye as he looks over at her and the baby still in her arms, “Won’t we, Theon?” 

“Yeah,” he says, eyes on hers, “Yeah. We will.” 

A nurse bustles in to check on mother and baby, so Theon and Sansa take their leave, walking through the hushed hospital hallways out to his car. “Where to?” he asks. His face is shadowed in the blue-dark of the early morning hours, but she’s looking at him anyway. He's looking back, hand poised over the ignition. 

“Hmm? Oh. Back to the store. My car is still there.” 

“If I take you to the store, you’re going to start working, Sansa. Your place or Winterfell?”

“Winterfell,” she sighs, too tired to argue, although part of her is bristling at how accurate Theon’s assessment is. Luckily, the store is closed on Mondays. “I’m sure Mom could use some help to prepare for the Westerlings’ arrival.” 

Theon starts the car, and she dozes in the passenger seat until she hears him laughing under his breath a few minutes out from the house.

“What are you giggling about?” 

“I am _not_ giggling, Sansa,” he insists but continues over her protests, “Do you remember at Jeyne’s baby shower how her aunt had that weird honesty game?” 

“Oh gosh,” she breathes, “I couldn’t decide if I wanted to laugh or cry at Robb’s face when she asked him whether they would be naming the baby Rolph or Raynald to ‘honor the Westerling legacy’.”

“So you did both,” Theon reminds her, “but that’s not the question I was remembering. Do you remember how Jeyne said she didn’t want to have any kids share a birthday with a holiday?”

“Well, she labored through the entirety of Valentine’s Day. He wasn’t born until after midnight, so not on the holiday itself, I suppose.” 

“He was, though. Today is technically a holiday,” Theon is laughing again, and the sound makes her smile before she processes his words, “It’s President’s Day. I saw the calendar notification on my phone when your dad woke me up earlier.” 

They’re both still laughing when Theon stops in the driveway. The sky is lighter, but the sunrise isn’t on the horizon yet. She can see the stubble on his jaw now, and she’s too tired to berate herself for wondering what it would feel like against her skin, but that thought awakens her enough that she knows she should get inside before she does something embarrassing. More embarrassing than falling asleep on him, anyway. She wonders how long it'll be until he starts making fun of her for that. 

“Thanks for driving me, Theon.”

“Sure thing, Stark. Gotta keep an eye on my co-godparent, don’t I? Robb and Jeyne would have my head otherwise.” Her heart wants to flip at his wink, but his words make her stomach sink. She’s always been Robb’s sister first. “Yeah. Goodnight, Theon.” 

Theon doesn’t back out of the driveway until she shuts the front door and turns off the porch light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing that happened in this chapter was in my outline, so sorry about the minimal amount of plot advancement, I guess? These characters took me on a joyride today. I promise that we'll eventually get to the tropes in the tags. We might be looking at more chapters to get us there, LOL. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. :)


End file.
